


late night

by Frostandcoal



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Gen, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-20 05:19:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11914032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frostandcoal/pseuds/Frostandcoal
Summary: People think that Exy “saved” him, but they are wrong. Exy is not a savior -- there are no saviors for people like Andrew.In which Andrew Minyard decides to pay it forward thanks to an all-night bodega, terrible ice cream choices and a cashier who just happens to play collegiate Exy.





	late night

**Author's Note:**

> I'm super interested in Andrew's complicated relationship with Exy, especially post-canon when he's playing professionally and before he and Neil end up on the same team. Also I love the idea of Andrew getting older, wiser, and helping people but never wanting to let anyone know because he's ~~Batman~~ ANDREW. 
> 
> ANYWAY, I love post-canon Andrew and Neil A LOT OKAY :| 
> 
> i can't stop writing fic for this fandom it is a problem omg ;;

There is one twenty-four hour bodega by his apartment in West Philly, and they have the _worst_ selection of ice cream.

Andrew scowls, hood pulled up over his head and his arms crossed as petulantly over his chest as he can manage for three-forty-five am on a Wednesday. This is stupid, the fact he’s awake is stupid, and the fact they only ice cream they have is either frozen yogurt or _sherbert_ is the stupidest thing of all.

Andrew continues glaring, as if something better will magically appear if he just waits long enough. He blames Neil for that.

“Um, excuse me,” a voice says, soft and hesitant. “Is there something I can help you find?”

Andrew looks over and sees a woman -- well, young woman, she’s maybe eighteen or nineteen -- with dyed pink hair and a nose ring, tatted up and wearing a nametag that says _Riley._

Something about her -- the R name, the pink hair, whatever -- reminds Andrew of Renee. It’s the only reason he can think of that he actually answers.

“Not unless you have better ice cream somewhere else.”

She makes the same kind of noise he does, on the odd chance something amuses him. It’s not quite a laugh but something that might have been close, once. “I know right? Who even eats sherbert?”

Andrew sighs, and heads toward the candy aisle.

***

A few nights later, he’s on the phone with Neil when he walks into the same bodega. It’s a little earlier this time, just after midnight. Neil is somewhere -- Seattle, or California, some place he has bad memories but won’t admit it, because saying outright _Andrew, this place reminds me of stuff I don’t want to think about_ is not Neil Josten’s style.

Instead, Neil is telling him about the game, about the backliner for the San Francisco Breakers who he’s pretty sure played for the Terrapins once upon a time, and Andrew knows everything that happened in Neil’s game because he knows everything about Neil all the time. He listens anyway, scanning the ice cream and again, what the _fuck_ , who only has bubble gum ice cream, why is that even a thing anymore?

“And I think that guy was on the team my junior year, remember that game when….” Andrew half-tunes him out, because he understands that it’s not his responses that matter, it’s not even really listening that’s important. It’s the part where Neil is telling him about being Neil Josten, striker for the New York Lancers and former captain of the Palmetto State University Foxes. A person who is not whatever fake name he used when he was last in San Francisco, when he was nothing more than a brutal man’s progeny outrunning a cleaver dipped in blood.

“Your goalie sucks,” Andrew says, because maybe, _maybe_ he has opinions about Exy goalkeepers as long as Kevin Day isn’t around to hear Andrew talk about them. “I could have stopped four of those goals in my sleep.”

“Yeah, you could have,” Neil says, sounding -- actually, he sounds like Kevin, both smug at Andrew’s admitting that he has opinions about Exy and also annoyed because honestly, the Lancers’ goalie is awful _._ He goes on, but Andrew’s not listening to the particulars. What he cares about is Neil’s voice, the way it fluctuates as he speaks, the part where he’s connected to what he’s saying, invested even if it’s boring as fuck.

“I don’t like being here,” Neil says, finally, when Andrew has collected enough chocolate to make up for the lack of decent ice cream.”In this state. Is that why I couldn’t -- is that why we didn’t win tonight?”

Of course Neil would think that. Andrew rolls his eyes and dumps his purchases on the counter. “Your defense should retire and your goalie couldn’t stop a sneeze. You are not the only player on your team, Josten. Stop thinking you’re so important. You've played worse.”

Neil’s laugh is a rasp of warmth in Andrew’s ear. “I miss you.”

“I have to go,” Andrew says, and it's in the same tone of voice he uses when he says _I hate you_ to Neil. Andrew hangs up and looks at Riley, who is ringing up his purchases.

She conducts the transaction without saying anything other than the necessities, but the way she looks at him -- Andrew knows without a doubt that she recognizes him.

He knows a junkie when he sees one.  

***

It’s two weeks later that she says something, and Andrew is only mollified because they have some fucking decent ice cream for once.

“ _Finally_ ,” Andrew huffs, putting the carton of Chocolate Caramel Striped Peanut Butter Crunch on the counter. It’s more of a victory than the shutout he got in goal tonight for the Generals, at least in his opinion.  

“This makes my teeth hurt,” Riley says, picking up the carton and looking at it with a wince.

“I don’t remember asking you,” says Andrew.

“I know who you are,” she says, putting the ice cream in a bag for him. “Andrew Minyard. You’re the goalkeeper for the Philly Generals.”

“I am a customer who wants his ice cream,” he says, pulling out his wallet.

She hands it over with a flourish, and doesn’t look bothered by his brusqueness. Clearly he is losing his touch. “I play Exy at Drexel University,” she says, because Andrew is always right. “I’m a goalkeeper, too.”  

Of course she is.

Drexel University in Philadelphia is not a Class 1 NCAA school, but it has a fairly decent program - or so Neil has told him.

Maybe it’s the strange echo of Renee he gets from Riley, or maybe it’s the fact it’s almost one in the morning and there’s decent ice cream in his future, but for once he actually engages instead of walking away when someone talks to him.

“It’s a thankless job,” he tells her. That’s his version of engaging. “You win and it’s what they expect. You lose and it’s all your fault.” He tells himself he doesn’t sound like Neil because Andrew doesn’t actually care. He mostly believes that.

“You want to talk about a thankless job?” She gestures to the bodega. “One time when I was working, I got robbed. Know how much money they took? Six dollars and eighty-four cents. Seriously. Less than ten bucks.”

Fair enough. Andrew narrows his eyes at her. “Are you any good?”

She looks for a moment like she doesn’t know what to say, then straightens her shoulders and lifts her chin a little. “Yeah. I’m better than the other goalie, who’s a senior. My only loss this season so far was in a shootout.”

Andrew nods. Shootouts are terrible in a way only a goalkeeper understands, so much so that even Andrew Minyard is sympathetic about them. “You want to go pro?”

It’s strange that he’s even asking. Maybe he has a thing for names with _R’s._

_Renee. Robin. Riley. Runaway._

“Not really. I want to be a pharmacist, actually,” she says, and then, haltingly, “I grew up in the system, too. I never thought...I didn’t think college scholarships were for kids like me. But I read about you, and so I thought, what the hell. I tried out for Drexel’s team and got a scholarship. It pays for classes but I still need to pay for my expenses, so I work here.” She glances down and says, so quietly that Andrew can’t quite hear her, “I chose three for my number, too.”

Andrew has been told, more than once, that people are _inspired_ by his story -- the angry foster-care kid who survived abuse to become a nationally decorated collegiate athlete. People think that Exy “saved” him, but they are wrong. Exy is not a savior -- there are no saviors for people like Andrew. Exy is a means to an end, it is the price he pays for Neil, for a life that is better than it might have been without it.

The truth is, if he hadn’t had the talent, no one would have bothered with him at all.

It is not a thought that he entertains, because there is no point in thinking about what-if’s and might-have-beens. He might have slipped through the cracks and ended up like so many other kids who no gives a shit about -- an addict, a prisoner, a corpse. Neil might have ended up cut into pieces and scattered across the Eastern seaboard. Ichirou might have shot him instead of Riko. Andrew might have died along with Tilda in the car accident. That’s just the way things are, and it’s pointless to re-draw the past with different lines.

He has nothing to say to this girl, and he knows she isn’t expecting anything anyway. People like them -- they never do.

***

Three weeks later, he drags Neil into the bodega at twelve-forty-six on a Wednesday.

Neil’s team lost to Andrew’s earlier that night, and Neil isn’t over it -- he never gets over a loss, junkie that he is -- but he’s sleepy and sex-sated, all drowsy-eyes and tousled hair. Sometimes Andrew pokes at the prickly sore places after a loss just to see Neil bristle like a cactus, but this is not one of those times.

Neil played well, anyway. Once again, it was his team’s awful defense that kept them from winning.

Andrew’s team has been on the road a fair amount the last few weeks, so he hasn’t been back to the bodega. He can feel Neil’s slight surprise as he slides his hand into Neil’s and drags him up to the counter, where Riley is straightening the cigarettes and humming along with the radio.

“This is Riley,” Andrew says, tugging Neil up to stand next to him. “She’s a goalie for Drexel.”

Andrew has not mentioned Riley before, but Neil, when confronted with a collegiate Exy player, immediately morphs into Kevin Day. “Hi,” he says, holding out the hand that isn’t currently occupied by Andrew’s. “Neil Josten.”

“He’s a striker,” Andrew says, to Riley. “He plays for the Lancers. They lost tonight.” He can feel Neil’s glare, warm like his kisses earlier.

“I scored on you,” Neil reminds him, cactus-mode activated.

“You scored on Vega,” Andrew corrects, immediately. “You did not score on me.”

Riley shakes Neil’s hand and grins at this exchange.  “I listened to the game on the radio,” she says, and then, to Andrew, “Sick save at the bottom of the half, Minyard. It’s already up on YouTube.”

Andrew accepts the compliment with a nod, which he can tell surprises Neil. That’s more than he does for most people when they compliment his playing -- including Kevin _and_ Neil. “You should have done that during your game against Lehigh last week. Morrow, that striker? She always goes for that same spot in a shootout.”

Andrew can feel Neil staring at him, but doesn’t look away from Riley.

“I know!” Riley sighs. “I got nervous. Did you watch the game?”

Andrew nods. He was there, but he doesn’t tell her that. “Do you have any decent ice cream this time?”

She looks pleased and a little embarrassed. “Yup. That same kind you bought last time.”

“Good.” Andrew drops Neil’s hand and goes to collect his ice cream. He leaves Neil to talk to Riley, and waits at least fifteen minutes before he’s bored and ready to leave. He puts the ice cream on the counter.

“Oh,” Neil says, turning his attention back to Andrew. He blinks his pretty blue eyes slowly. “Do we need cig--”

“Just the ice cream,” says Andrew, interrupting him.

Neil gives him a half-grin but says nothing, waiting for Andrew to pay. At the door, Andrew turns back to Riley and says, “Remember what I said about Lehigh. And you play Mizzou next week, they’re angling for division 1 standing so they’re trying to blow out their opponents and prove they're better than everyone.” The best part of being a goalie is ruining everyone’s day by saying _no_ , which he’s sure he doesn’t need to tell Riley.  

He doesn’t. She grins a little and says, “Gotcha.”

Andrew shoves the bag of ice cream at Neil -- it’s cold, and he’s wearing fingerless gloves -- and heads out the door.

“Bye, and good luck,” Neil calls, before following Andrew out into the chilly night air. Andrew ignores him, but Neil is staring so hard at him that Andrew can feel Neil’s gaze boring into the side of his skull. Finally, Neil says, “You didn’t buy cigarettes ‘cause you don’t want the baby college goalie knowing you smoke, huh.”

“Shut up,” Andrew says, and moves closer, hand sliding into Neil’s again.  “Everyone knows I smoke. I have plenty of cigarettes at home, as long as you don’t smoke them all before you leave.”

“Guess you’ll have to keep my mouth occupied,” Neil says, and he completely ruins his poor attempt at an innuendo by yawning.

***

Two days later, Neil is back in New York and Andrew is sitting in his agent’s office, signing the last of the paperwork to establish a scholarship for promising goalkeepers at Drexel University. It’s enough to fund tuition, books, room and board and a small stipend for five years, so the recipient won’t end up getting robbed for less than ten bucks at a part-time job in the middle of the night.

Well. Four and a half years, since this year’s recipient is already well into her sophomore year.

Andrew’s name is not on the scholarship, and he threatens his agent _and_ the Drexel coach with death if they ever reveal him as the person behind it. He isn’t doing this for gratitude. He’s maybe, just maybe, doing it for David Wymack.

Wymack, who gave a damn when no one else ever had. Exy didn't save Andrew, but maybe -- maybe that did. 

***

The next time Neil is in town, they go to the bodega after their game. This time Andrew buys cigarettes -- just cigarettes, because the ice cream selection goes back to being terrible.  

“I wonder what happened to the goalie who worked here,” Neil says, as they leave.

Andrew shrugs. “Who knows.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell about this series with me, give me prompts, or whatever you want on [tumblr!](https://frostandcoal.tumblr.com/)
> 
> ps i really like sherbert, there's no hate here.


End file.
